by Cerys du Lys
She knew, now, that she ought not speak at all, and with a supreme effort of will, she stayed her tongue though all she wanted to do was gibber and grovel and apologize.
Just as the silence tipped into painful discomfort, he said, “You think to tame me.”
She shook her head, as a mute tear rolled down her nose.
“Yes,” he insisted. “You think you know me - that you know my heart, and what is best for me. You think to save me from myself, don’t you?”
She shook her head again, and in a burst of fury, he roared, “And now you lie! No, whore, I am not yours to change or tame or save - you are mine, to do with as I will, and that is all. Do you understand?”
She tried to nod but her head dropped to hide her flowing tears.
“Do - you - understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered at last, and he stamped out of the room and left her, broken and cold and naked on the floor.
Chapter Eleven
For a little while, she was in an insensible stupor, curled about herself, oblivious to the cold and the hard floor beneath her. She was deep in her misery, and her throat grew raw with crying.
As her sobs abated, she fell into a light sleep, and when she awoke with a start, it was early morning and her mind was clearer and the sensations of her body were returning to her.
She saw her words to him as silly, now. Silly and girlish. The pratterings of a child. She might as well try to have tamed an ocean or doused a forest fire with a cup of water.
How foolish of her.
And she felt shame in her innocent foolishness, and a little of her innocence fell away.
She was stiff and sore, and her limbs rigid with the chill of being naked. She pushed herself up slowly, letting the circulation resume around her body, and paused before getting to her feet.
Anna had stepped into her undergarments, and was just drawing her dress and bodice closed around her, when she heard footsteps running quickly up the stairs. Hastily she laced her gown closed and began to pull her fingers through her tangled hair, making herself contritely presentable for Tristan.
But to her horror, it was not Tristan that burst through the door, but his younger brother Hugh, and his face broke into fleshy triumph when he saw her.
“Ah! I had thought to find the door locked - but no! I am saved the trouble of beating it down, then.”
Anna took three swift steps backwards, her heart hammering. “Sir, I am under your brother’s protection…”
“Well, he’s not here.” Hugh wasted no time in taunting her or debating with her. He strode across the room before she could find any kind of weapon, and as she turned to flee to the adjoining bedroom, he grabbed her from behind. She squirmed and squealed as his iron arm went around her waist and dragged her against him. But her kicks and screams were in vain. His other hand produced a soft white rag, and it was pressed to her mouth. She could not help but drag a breath in, and with it, her lungs filled with sickly-sweet chloroform. Her fingers and toes began to tingle as all sound and vision receded from her, and within moments, all was black.
* * *
There was noise all around her, and a roaring in her ears. Her head pounded, and she felt like she might vomit. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, not wanting to be conscious. Not wanting to be alive.
The roaring faded. Now she could hear voices. There was a pressure on her shoulder, and it moved, and she recognized it as a hand, patting her. It matched the reassuring speech she could hear. The noise coalesced into words; “It is all right,” the person was saying. “It is all right.”
It is not all right.
There was another voice, a woman’s, from further away. “Has she awoken yet?”
“She’s coming round now.” The voice near to her was also female.
Anna wanted to pass out again. But she had to know where she was. She loosened her grip and began to straighten her body, and peered through slitted eyes.
The light in the room was dark and muted. She dared to open them wider, and turned her head. Above her, a high ceiling with ornate carvings, and a chandelier. On second glance, she saw the dangling crystal glass was chipped and broken, and bare twisted wire hung down in some places, devoid of their decorative teardrops.
“Here we are,” the voice nearer to her said. “Now then; sit up carefully. That’s it. I have you.”
Anna sat and found herself on a chaise longue. She swung her legs to the ground, and blinked. On a chair near to where she sat there was an old woman wearing a young woman’s clothing. Her face was lined, and her hair straggled with grey locks limp and loose. But her eyes were bright; she was made old by life and hard times, perhaps, not the passage of years.
“Where am I?” Anna said. She peered past the woman, looking about the room - looking for him. Hugh. She was cold with fear.
The woman sighed, and smiled with pale sadness. “My establishment. Consider this room your room.”
The long windows were covered by panels of fabric that filtered the light through bare patches and torn holes. The furniture was dented, mismatched, once fine but now so well-used as to be nearly firewood. By the double doors stood a younger woman in a shocking state of undress, her fleshy breasts spilling from a high-waisted bustier and not a lot else, save lace and pointed boots. Anna hastily looked away.
“And who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Mercy.”
“And you said this is your establishment…?” Anna said hesitantly. She had a growing suspicion that she knew what manner of place it was. But she wanted to hear it, to be sure.
Mercy smiled crookedly. “I think you know,” she said, and that confirmed enough to Anna. She jumped to her feet, and raised a hand to her head.
“Ouch. Was I hit?”
“No; there is not a mark upon you. It is just the after-effects. It will wear off in time. Sit back down; I’ll have someone bring you food and drink.”
“No. Thank you for your kindness but there has been some mistake. I must return home. I do not think I am meant to be here… who brought me here?”
Mercy stood up and put her hands on Anna’s upper arms. She had a strength in her bony limbs that surprised Anna. “You are supposed to be here. You’re here under the protection of Andrew Gallagher, and he will be along today or tomorrow to assess you.”
Anna rubbed her face, trying to make sense of it all. “Who is that, this Andrew Gallagher? It was that man, Hugh Craythorne, that took me - but I am under the protection of his brother, Tristan. Not Andrew Gallagher. I haven’t even heard of him…” but as she spoke, a remembrance came back to her. Tristan had said his name when he had burst in and found her at the mercy of Hugh. “And what of Andrew Gallagher?” he had said. “A commoner and a ruffian,” Hugh had replied. So why had Hugh taken her to him? She had thought they sounded like enemies.
Mercy increased the pressure and suddenly her hands weren’t comforting at all. Instead of reassuring her, they drove Anna back down onto the chaise longue. “Sit. You cannot go anywhere.”
Anna sat. Her head pounded and she felt ill, a combination of the chloroform and the situation generally. The room had a tainted smell, as if the windows were never opened. Her stomach clenched as she thought about the acts that were performed in here.
“Please,” she implored. “Why has Hugh taken me? And brought me here?”
“Men and their games,” Mercy said. She remained standing, and crossed her arms. She looked over at the girl who was still standing by the door. “Lily, bring some food and wine.”
“No, I don’t want your food,” Anna said.
Mercy ignored her protest. She tutted, and said, “I do not know what is passing between the gangs of London. They fight. One rises, one falls. Men do like to hunt, don’t they? There is as much hunting in the city as ever there is out on the hills and in the forests. So, consider yourself prey.”
“Prey?”
“You’ve been hunted, and you’ve
been caught, and now you are here with the rest of us. I run this place, yes, for Andrew Gallagher.”
“So he’s in charge? I must speak with him. Explain, somehow.”
Mercy shook her head sadly. “He will come and see you soon. But there’s nothing for you to explain. You’re here.”
“And my purpose? Surely not to … to be … to be put to work? Here?”
“Maybe. But you need to know one more thing.”
Anna forced herself to meet Mercy’s gaze even as her soul was shrinking under this constant battering. “What?”
“Andrew Gallagher himself is not in ultimate control. He, too, answers to another. Ah - Lily. Thank you. Bring it here, place it on this table.”
Lily sauntered over, and put a tray on a small circular table in the middle of the room. It was a confused mix of foods that didn’t go together; clearly she had simply ambled through the kitchen and gathered up anything that was easy to put on a plate. There was also a half-full wine bottle, the cork lodged awkwardly in the neck.
“Might I have some water?” Anna asked.
Both women laughed. “Wine will be better for you, in the end,” Mercy said. She uncorked the bottle and gave it a sniff. “Quite fresh.”
Anna winced as the stink of vinegar hit her nose from three feet away. She turned away. “Thank you. I am not thirsty.”
“It’s not for your thirst.”
As Anna turned back, Mercy was tucking something into a pocket in the folds of her skirt, and replacing the wine bottle on the table. No doubt she was taking the cork, as if that would encourage Anna to drink the vile stuff.
“Rest,” she ordered. “You will need it. And besides, there is nothing else to do. Lily will sit with you, and soon you will meet Mr. Gallagher.”
Anna thought she ought to say “thank you” but she bit it back. This woman was no ally. What had happened to sisterhood? Where was the solidarity of women? She sat back, leaning wearily against the cushions, hardly caring to watch Mercy leave.
Lily didn’t glance her way. She pulled a heavy chair with deep padding across the floor, the ornately carved feet gouging channels in the wood. She dragged it to the door, and flung herself in it, curling up. She looked bored.
For ten long minutes, Anna sat without moving, determined to remain aloof.
But she was hungry, and she was thirsty. She wanted to avoid the wine, but after eating four mouthfuls of dry bread, she had to succumb to it, and took a swig from the bottle; they had given her no glass or cup.
As she replaced the bottle on the table, she saw the cork lying near the tray, and her head began to swim. She realized that Mercy had drugged her, and in a way it was a relief to let unconsciousness claim her once more.
Chapter Twelve
“How’s business, big brother?” Hugh asked breezily as he sauntered into the small office in the corner of the warehouse.
Tristan looked up and snarled. The incident with Anna had unsettled him. He knew it had been a mistake to take her home. Well, he knew it in hindsight, at any rate. As soon as he got home he would make arrangements for her to be sent away somewhere. Perhaps he could find a convent in France for her. He’d posted the letter she had written that assured her parents she was safe; that was his obligation discharged, then.
Hugh raised his hands in a placatory fashion. “Why the face like thunder? What’s happening? Is the consignment from The Gallant Dame all in order?”
“She docked an hour ago and the men are unloading as we speak. It seems to be all right though Campbell has tried to swindle us, as usual.”
“It wouldn’t be Campbell unless he was trying some trick or another. Still. We needn’t be at the beck and call of merchants like him, you know.”
Tristan slammed the ledger shut and sat back sharply in his chair. “You’re about to tell me we need to merge with the Earl of C.’s lot again, aren’t you? No.”
“Yes,” Hugh said, insistently. He was half-smiling, as if he had a secret. He came forward and took a seat before Tristan’s desk, and leaned his elbows on the wooden top. “Anyway. How was that wench you took?”
The sudden change of topic caught Tristan off guard. It took him a moment to realize “that wench” was Anna. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a sneer. “A good fuck.”
“Is that all?”
Tristan stared at his brother, sensing some kind of trap. “Yes, that’s all.”
“But you left her at our house rather than turn her into the street?”
Tristan shrugged.
Hugh picked up a pen and began to idly spin it between his fingers, as if he was thinking out his next sentence very carefully. Tristan waited.
Finally, Hugh said, “She’s not at our house anymore.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “A problem solved, then, if she’s run.”
“She hasn’t run,” Hugh said, his mouth lifting in an evil smile. “She has been taken.”
Tristan furrowed his brow. “What? By whom, and when, and why? And what the devil do you have to do with this?” Again his sense of foreboding, which had dogged him whenever he thought of Hugh and Anna, returned.
Hugh and Beatrice. His sister and his brother.
And Tristan’s own sin.
“What do you have to do with this?” he repeated, with menace.
Hugh was obviously enjoying the power of secret knowledge immensely. He said, “Well, it’s like this. This gang is as much mine as yours. Alone, we’re weak. If we join with Gallagher and the Earl of C., we can become far more powerful. We can take over, eventually. But you simply won’t listen to reason. So I had to find another way. Make you see.”
Tristan leaned across the table, and hissed, “What have you done?”
“I have taken your sweet little plaything and given her to Gallagher. If you want her back, you’ll come with me and we’ll join with them, in partnership.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Oh,” Hugh said casually, snapping the pen between the fingers of one hand and letting the pieces drop onto the table, “Then I suppose they will simply fuck her to death.”
“Jesus Christ, man!” Tristan exploded, leaping to his feet. “You are actually insane! Unhinged! Moonstruck!” It was the most ridiculous thing he had heard.
“You had better come and get her, then, hadn’t you? Because however mad you might think me, I can assure you that Andrew Gallagher is a thousand times worse. Why, even now, at this moment, he will be rutting away. How much man can she take? How many men can she take, do you think? Perhaps we ought to go anyway, and watch. I think I’d like that.”
Tristan gripped the edge of the desk, leaning forward, trying to gather his thoughts. Anna - at the hands of the brute, Gallagher.
It was probably too late for her already. “When did you do this?”
“Early this morning. I was in the house, waiting for my chance. Chloroform, and straight into a carriage.”
“Where did you take her, exactly?”
“I’m not going to tell you that! One of his houses.”
“One of his whorehouses, I assume.”
Hugh shrugged, laughing, openly enjoying his brother’s discomfort.
Tristan snapped. He straightened up and strode around the desk, and grabbed Hugh by the neck, hauling him upright before his brother could evade his attack. Tristan launched onwards, walking the few steps until he had Hugh pinned hard against the wall of the office. “Now let me tell you this,” he said, keeping his voice low and level. He wanted to save his energy for what he was about to do. “I care not one whit what will happen to that girl. What future had she, anyway? She was a silly thing with silly ideas. So let them fuck her to death.”
Hugh opened his mouth to speak. His cheerful demeanor was fading.
Tristan continued before Hugh could say anything. “But what I do care about is betrayal. What I do care about is when something of mine is stolen from me. And when someone from my own family steals from me, then the betrayal is a hundredfold worse. D
o you understand why I am angry?”
Hugh licked his lips. “I was simply persuading-”
“No!” Tristan roared, unleashing all his fury in one torrent. “You were seeking to bully me, blackmail me, betray me through some misguided appeal to my finer feelings.” As Anna had done, he remembered. How wrong she had been. How wrong Hugh was.
Hugh tried again. “Gallagher-”
Tristan let go and stepped back and before Hugh could recover his balance, Tristan slammed an uppercut into Hugh’s jaw, knocking his head back hard against the office wall. Hugh slithered partly down the wall, his arms flailing out to try to grab a handhold and steady himself. His fingers closed around the back of a chair but Tristan grabbed him by the lapels and spun him around as if in some macabre country dance.
“Tristan!” Hugh wailed, his plaintive cry suddenly sounding like the wail of a bullied younger sibling.
“No, Hugh! We’ve been here before, don’t you remember? You, me, Beatrice. You, the coward. Unable to do what had to be done. And you manipulated me then like you are trying to manipulate me now. I shall not have it!” He was tired of being played by others. He was his own man, dammit.
Tristan pushed out, straightening his arms so that Hugh was flung across the small room. He collided painfully with the desk and slid to the floor. “Tristan, think of Anna, the innocent girl.”
Tristan was hearing nothing, seeing nothing in his red mist. Hugh’s words barely registered. This wasn’t about Anna - this was about the past. About Beatrice. About their sister and what Hugh had made him do.
“Get up, you bastard! Get up and fight me!”
Hugh rolled his head from side to side, his jaw slack. “No.”
So Tristan walked over and kicked him viciously in the side; his boot connected hard and there was a cracking sound. Hugh cried out in a breathless kind of way and tried to scurry sideways, like an abject mouth, pleading openly for mercy now.